The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [22]
On the morning of his first day with the RHD Garcia had woken up a lot earlier than usual. He’d tried to be as quiet as possible, but that didn’t keep him from waking Anna. He needed to report to Captain Bolter’s office at eight-thirty, but by six-thirty he was already dressed in his best suit and found himself killing time in their small apartment on the north side of LA.
‘How do I look?’ he asked after his second cup of coffee.
‘It’s the third time you’ve asked me the same question,’ Anna laughed. ‘You look fine, babe. They are lucky. They are getting the finest detective in LA,’ she said as she softly kissed his lips. ‘Are you nervous?’
Garcia nodded and bit his bottom lip. ‘A little bit.’
‘There’s no need. You’ll be great.’
Anna was an optimist; finding the positive side to just about anything. She was happy for Garcia; he was finally achieving what he’d always wanted, but deep inside she felt scared. Garcia had experienced some close encounters in the past. He’d spent a week in hospital after a .44 caliber bullet shattered his collar bone and she’d spent a week in tears. She knew the perils that came with his job and she knew he would never shy away from danger, and that petrified her.
At exactly eight-thirty Garcia was standing in front of Captain Bolter’s office in the RHD building. He found it funny that the name on the door said ‘KONG.’ He knocked three times.
‘Come in.’
Garcia opened the door and stepped inside.
Captain William Bolter was now in his mid-sixties but he looked at least ten years younger. Tall, strong as an ox and sporting a full head of silvery hair together with a thick mustache, the man was a menacing figure. If the stories were true, he’d taken over twelve bullets in his time, and he was still standing.
‘Who the hell are you, Internal Affairs?’ His voice was firm but not aggressive.
‘No sir . . .’ Garcia stepped closer, handing over his forms. ‘Carlos Garcia, sir, I’m your new detective.’
Captain Bolter was sitting in his imposing high-backed swivel chair behind his rosewood desk. He flipped through the forms looking impressed at times before placing them on his desk. He didn’t need any paperwork to tell him Garcia was a good detective. No one was assigned to the RHD if they hadn’t shown a high level of competence and expertise, and according to Garcia’s track record, he had plenty.
‘Impressive . . . and you are exactly on time. Good start!’ the captain said after swiftly consulting his watch.
‘Thank you, sir.’
The captain walked up to the coffee machine in the far corner of his office and poured himself a cup, Garcia didn’t get offered one. ‘OK, first things first. You gotta lose that cheap suit. This is the Homicide division, not the fashion police. The guys out there are gonna crucify you.’ He gestured towards the detectives’ floor.
Garcia looked down at his suit. He liked that suit – it was his best suit – his only suit.
‘How long have you been a detective now?’
‘Two years, sir.’
‘Well, that’s remarkable. It usually takes a detective at least five to six years on the job before he’s even considered for the RHD. You either kiss a lot of ass or you are the real thing.’ With no reply from Garcia the captain continued. ‘Well, you might’ve been a good detective out there working for the LAPD, but this is Homicide.’ Sipping his coffee, he walked back to his desk. ‘Holiday camp is over, sonny. This is harder and definitely more dangerous than anything you’ve done before.’
‘I understand, Captain.’
‘Do you?’ He pinned Garcia with his intense gaze. His voice took a more ominous tone. ‘This job will mess with your head, kid. You’ll make more enemies than friends as a Homicide dick. Your old friends at the LAPD will probably hate you from now on. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you are strong enough? And I’m not talking about physical strength here, sonny. Are you sure you’re ready?’
Garcia had half expected the dangerous job speech; every captain has one. Without turning away from the captain’s stare, he replied in a steady